


rosa mundi

by xiaohao (wydryn)



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Angst, Friendship (ish), Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Multi, One sided
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 16:31:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9500189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wydryn/pseuds/xiaohao
Summary: carmine rosedeceitful desire





	

Watching them hurt. It tugged upon the roots spiralling down his lungs. It hurt more than the nights he was kept up hacking up the roses, lavender and pink and blue, with blood staining them, tainting their meanings into pain and suffering. 

 

**amaranth red roses**  
long standing desire 

 

The lavender came with the days he loved him. The days he was overwhelmed by the small smiles, the orange hair flopping over the wondrous eyes. He was in love with his humour, his way of twisting English and Korean together. He was in love with his enthusiasm, the happiness that defined him. The small touches, the many laughs, the sighing and conspiring glances they shared. 

But he didn’t love him back, didn’t have the sensation of petals at the back of his throat when they parted. 

The pink came with the days he loved him. The days he couldn’t help but to stare, as his footsteps formed a dance. Long hair or short hair, it didn’t change the smile, the grace. He was in love with his happiness, the laugh he would hear late into the night when they were together, the way he played with his fingers. He was gentle, the feeling of silk under warm hands, the knowledge of belonging. 

He didn’t love him either, didn’t know how petals taste as they mix with blood.

Blue were the days he loved them. He loved their glances, their knowledge of where the other was at all times. He loved their small kisses, loved their tiny fights. He loved when they were close, cuddling together. His favourite times were when they included him. When he wrapped his arms around his shoulders, when he kissed his cheek. His favourite times were when he could pretend he was there too, that the love they shared wasn’t killing him. His favourite times were when their love was open to him too. 

But it wasn’t. They didn’t need him. It didn’t matter that when he spent time with them he could pretend to breathe freely, like the thorns pricking into his windpipe were imaginary. 

Seungcheol could pretend, but he could never share the love of Jisoo and Jeonghan, the deep burgundy rose of unconscious beauty. 

 

**yellow roses**  
platonic love and the promise of new beginnings 

 

Jihoon was the first to notice, on a rare break from his work. He watched as Seungcheol grew weaker, but didn’t say anything until he walked in on Seungcheol, lying in a mess of blood and petals. He barely touched him, only knocking his shoulder with a hand to make sure he was conscious. Seungcheol opened his eyes to see him looking down at him with shock. 

“Who,” he had whispered, and Seungcheol felt tears as he shook his head. Jihoon hadn’t pushed it, only helping him to clear the mess, and sitting with him afterwards as he tried not to cry. 

That was the closest they’d been in years, sitting together on the couch that had been their place. At one time, they would have huddled together, bundled in each other’s arms, but now they sat, a foot away from each other.

Seungcheol noted the difference, but Jihoon didn’t. 

That night Seungcheol fell asleep beside Jihoon, but Jihoon didn’t feel anything. 

 

**white roses**  
purity and innocence 

 

Jihoon was on high alert now. It reminded Seungcheol of when they were best friends, before the seeds were planted in his lungs. He had missed Jihoon being there for him, and though they barely touched, he found it easier to breathe in contact with the younger. 

But he got worse when Jihoon went back to work, when he had nothing to distract him of the crushing beauty of Jeonghan and Jisoo. He could no longer distinguish the days or the colours, every night was a mess of blood and petals. It was a life of blinding pain, but for the feeling of loving them he would take it, even ten times more. 

Jihoon wanted him to get the surgery. He believed that there was no other ending, but Seungcheol did not. His need grew stronger as his body grew weaker, until he could barely walk without coughing. 

He asked Jihoon why he wanted Seungcheol to get the surgery. Jihoon had replied that it wasn’t worth it, that love wasn’t worth the pain he felt, that whoever it was wasn’t worth the pain. He repeated it every time he saw Seungcheol, like a mantra. 

It angered Seungcheol. What did Jihoon know? He didn’t understand, didn’t feel the fluttering when Jisoo muttered to him under his breath, didn’t feel the soaring happiness when Jeonghan glanced at him from across the room, sharing with him a secret smile. He told him so, and Jihoon just glared at him. 

He didn’t stop helping, but the help he gave felt forced, and they didn’t talk again. 

 

**dog roses**  
pleasure and pain 

 

Being with Jisoo and Jeonghan was a dream. He walked down the street with them on either side, and his strength returned. Jisoo wrapped his arm around him and Jeonghan kissed his cheek, and the plants’ growth faltered as the day went on.

At night, watching TV together, as Seungcheol and Jisoo whispered mocking commentary as Jeonghan hit them to make them shut up, was the closest Seungcheol felt to better, the closest he could feel. As Jisoo dosed off in Seungcheol’s arms, as Jeonghan yawned, pulling them close, Seungcheol felt warm, felt like he belonged. 

When he woke up, with the two still wrapped around him, he could barely feel the petals itching up his throat. Jisoo woke up next, with a tiny yawn, that Seungcheol ached to kiss away. He didn’t and Jisoo smiled up at him. When Jeonghan woke up Jisoo did kiss his yawn away, but Seungcheol didn’t feel worse. 

They moved and the petals shifted within Seungcheol. He felt the thorns aching into his windpipe, felt the roots worming into his diaphragm. 

He coughed and a single black petal came up. 

He coughed and Jisoo and Jeonghan found out. 

 

**moss rosebuds**  
confession of love 

 

Everything changed. 

Jihoon was no longer the sole comfort he had. Jihoon was no longer the only one pestering him about the surgery. Jihoon no longer had to. Instead Jeonghan and Jisoo were there.

Seungcheol hated when they cried. Jisoo wouldn’t leave his side, Jeonghan was fussing over him, and the relationship dynamic had shifted with the plant in his windpipe, growing bigger. 

But the petals were all black. There was no blue, no pink, no lavender. Just black and blood. 

Jihoon still watched. Seungcheol saw him, and on the rare occasion he was alone, he went to find him. He knew where to find him, Jihoon’s safe place used to belong to both of them. He went there, and Jihoon was waiting, looking up at the door for him to arrive. When Seungcheol sat next to him it was as though it was three years ago, the first time they had shared the room. 

“I know who,” Jihoon said, and Seungcheol almost started crying. He choked it back, coughing instead, a black petal dropping from his lips. Jihoon’s head snapped up when he saw it. He took it carefully, holding it in his hands, before looking up at Seungcheol angrily. 

“It’s contagious,” Seungcheol told him, removing the petal from his hands. 

“Not to me,” Jihoon replied, his eyes still angrily trained on the petal. “Why did you let it go this far?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “I love them,” he said, and this time he couldn’t choke back the tears. “I can’t lose this.”

Jihoon slapped him. It felt good to have the outward pain, Seungcheol thought, raising a shaky hand to his cheek, feeling the burn of the stinging pain. He looked at Jihoon, and was scared by the fire in his eyes. 

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Jihoon hissed before slumping against the wall. He didn’t look at Seungcheol again, not even when Seungcheol replied. 

“What would you know,” Seungcheol muttered. Although Jihoon didn’t face him, his dry laugh echoed, matching the sound of the slap. 

“I know it all,” Jihoon said. “And I know you should have already had the surgery.” Seungcheol left that hanging in the air. These feelings were the only thing he could hold onto, with this disease aching through him. 

“Did you ever wonder why the surgery gets rid of the feelings?” Jihoon asked. Seungcheol didn’t want to answer, didn’t want to talk about the surgery, but it didn’t matter. Jihoon continued anyway. “Because this disease picks up the feelings and twists them. It pulls them into your core, and it destroys you. The feelings aren’t real.”

“They’re real,” Seungcheol said, defensively. “You don’t know anything.”

Jihoon stood up, but before leaving he turned to face the wall above Seungcheol’s head, still not looking directly at him. “I know that getting rid of my feelings for you was the best decision I ever made.” He glanced down at Seungcheol, meeting his eyes briefly. “I know that getting rid of these will be the best decision you make too.” He turned and walked out. 

The door shut quietly

Seungcheol finally allowed the tears to go, and the world to fall away. 

Jisoo found him, curled up in a ball, unconscious with black petals strewn around him. 

 

**black roses**  
the end 

 

When Seungcheol woke up, he was in a hospital bed, with Jeonghan and Jisoo curled together in the couch facing him. Seeing them made him cough, disturbing their sleep, dislodging three petals from his throat. 

Seeing he was awake, Jisoo rushed over to the bed, kneeling down, resting his chin on the bed and holding his hand. Seungcheol pulled away. “Contagious,” he croaked out. Jisoo’s face fell, but he retracted his hand and stood up. 

“Who is it?” Jisoo asked. This wasn’t the first time Jisoo had asked, and it wasn’t the first time Seungcheol had looked away and refused to answer. 

“Come on, Cheol,” Jeonghan urged. “The surgery is soon, it won’t matter.”

“Surgery?” Seungcheol asked, snapping his head up to face them. 

Jisoo looked away nervously, but Jeonghan held his gaze. “Jisoo thought you were dead,” he told him shortly. “And whoever they are aren’t worth it.” 

“Would Jisoo be worth it to you?” Seungcheol asked quietly. 

Jeonghan sneaked a glance at Jisoo, and didn’t answer. 

“I thought so,” Seungcheol said, starting to cough again. Harder than he’d coughed yet. Flurries of petals, until he screwed his eyes shut so he couldn’t see the black, surrendering to the warmth of the darkness behind his eyes. 

He heard Jeonghan mutter, before the dark surrounded him, blocking out sound and touch and feeling. Everything. 

 

**green roses**  
wishes of good health and prosperity 

 

Seungcheol woke up, and took a deep breath for the first time since he could remember. He breathed again. And a third time. He coughed, but there was no blood or petals. 

He breathed in and out. He sat up to see Jisoo and Jeonghan staring at him, smiling. But he felt nothing. It was a release. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated, before looking around the room. 

“Where’s Jihoon?” was the first thing Seungcheol said, without a throat full of petals, and lungs pierced by thorns. He’d planned to tell them that he loved them. But he couldn’t lie. 

Jisoo and Jeonghan exchanged surprised looks, but didn’t answer. “How are you feeling?” Jisoo asked, instead. 

“I’m fine,” Seungcheol said, brushing him off. “Where’s Jihoon? Someone get him.” I need to tell him he was right. 

“We don’t know, Seungcheol,” Jeonghan said. “He came in, yelled at us and then left.”

Seungcheol sighed. “Please can you get Jihoon?” 

Jeonghan opened his mouth as though to argue, but changed his mind when Jisoo nudged him. “Fine.” He turned and left the room, and Seungcheol felt no sadness as he walked away. 

Jisoo watched him go before going to Seungcheol’s side. “How are you feeling?”

“Free,” Seungcheol answered, breathing again. “I’m alive.” 

“Good,” Jisoo said. “That’s all that matters.” He smiled brightly, and Seungcheol felt nothing. 

 

**wild roses**  
simplicity 

 

Jihoon was talking to him again. Seungcheol should have felt relief, but instead he felt nothing. Nothing was the feeling of blankness filling him up, the feeling of hearing your heart beat empty, jarring against the inside of your chest. 

Nothing was the feeling of being out of sync. Nothing was not caring. 

The nothing consumed him, until it was all he had. He couldn’t breathe anymore, he couldn’t care anymore. 

He cried sometimes. The tears didn’t mean anything, didn’t fill him. He found himself remembering, not missing, the feeling of being so full, whether of the love he couldn’t remember, or of the thorns pricking into his lungs. But the memory passed. 

The memory passed, and he remained, empty. 

 

**leaf roses**  
you may hope 

 

He woke.

He woke and the emotions were alive again. They overwhelmed him. 

They overwhelmed him and he sat there for a minute letting them sink in. They were known. 

They were known and he had missed them. They were unknown. 

They were unknown and they scared him. He was alive. 

He was alive and he could feel. 

 

**damask roses**  
freshness 

 

The first person he told was Jihoon. Jihoon frowned. “I didn’t know you couldn’t feel.”

Seungcheol smiled. “Neither did I.” 

Jihoon smiled back, smiled at Seungcheol for the first time in years. No more one sided love, no more room of regrets. And Seungcheol smiled wider. He had Jihoon back. 

 

**tea roses**  
eternal memory 

 

When the feelings returned, so did the thorns.

The petals. Lavendar, pink and blue.

**Author's Note:**

> this took much longer than i thought it would and i'm not 100% on the ending. i wanted it to be longer but it came to a natural end and i didn't want to pull it out.
> 
> originally i was going to end with jihancheol but i liked this way better. 
> 
> this is mostly based on me being really sad one night and knowing w a y too much about roses. most of the flower meanings i already knew but i backed it up with: http://www.theflowerexpert.com/content/aboutflowers/flowermeanings/rose-flower-meanings
> 
> i hope you liked it


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